Naoya closing his domain as he began walking side by side with gojo.
"Why did you even want to fight me in the first place?" Naoya asked, his voice dry. "You were seriously pissed off too."
Gojo scratched his head. "I don't know. I forgot."
"…"
Naoya gave him a look, then smirked. "I think it had something to do with Amanai. You were real touchy about that."
Gojo didn't respond immediately. The forest around them was still—too still.
After a long moment, Gojo exhaled.
"I don't know what's really going on anymore," he said softly. "But right now… things feel okay. I guess I know you had your reasons. And I trust you."
Naoya made a disgusted face. "Tch. This is boring. What happened to all that righteous Gojo rage?"
But Gojo just smiled—faint and tired.
"After all…" he said, glancing over. "You're my friend."
Naoya stopped walking. Stared at him like he grew a second head.
"Say that again and I'll puke"
…
Naoya pushed the door open.
The classroom buzz died instantly.
He walked in like nothing had happened—like he hadn't just nearly killed Gojo Satoru.
He ignored everyone.
Didn't spare Geto a glance. Didn't acknowledge Haibara's gaping mouth. Didn't even flinch at the tension in the room.
He winked at Mei Mei.
Played with Riko hair.
Then grabbed Naraku by the wrist and turned to leave.
He stopped halfway through the door.
His eyes lingered on Shoko.
Something flickered in them.
But he didn't say a word.
Instead, he turned to Yaga. "Today's my last day,"
"I'm dropping out."
Yaga opened his mouth—but Naoya was already gone.
The door swung shut behind him with a click.
The silence lingered.
"…What the hell was that," Haibara finally muttered.
Geto didn't answer.
Shoko lit a cigarette, staring at the door.
…
Naoya lay on his back, sweat still clinging to his skin, the towel barely hanging onto his waist. His muscles twitched with exhaustion, chest rising and falling as he stared blankly at the ceiling, a lazy grin on his face lost in thought's.
The door creaked open.
Naraku stepped in, silent, her presence like a knife in the air. Without hesitation, she activated her cursed technique—pushing every parameter to the maximum.
Of course she would.
He was drained. He had burned through two Domain Expansions, nearly emptied his cursed energy reserves. and he was physically exhausted.
This was the best chance she'd ever get.
She sprang from the shadows, blade slashing in a clean arc toward his throat.
He ducked—barely. A strand of silver hair floated down.
"How rude," he muttered, dodging the second strike. "I didn't even write my will yet."
Naraku didn't answer. Her eyes were focused, cold.
She came at him with everything—stabs, elbows, a sweeping leg. She was faster than usual. Stronger. For a moment, she felt like a real threat.
But Naoya moved like he'd seen it all before. Weaving, pivoting, twisting just out of reach.
He caught her arm mid-swing and hurled her into the dresser. Wood cracked. She stumbled to her feet and threw a glass bottle at him.
He batted it aside. It shattered against the wall.
"You're bleeding," she said flatly, noticing a thin cut on his cheek.
"Are you proud of that?" he replied with a smirk.
She lunged. Her knee slammed into his ribs. He grunted—and she used that opening to vault onto his back, arms locking around his neck in a chokehold.
For a second, it seemed like she had him.
Then he stood upright. Grabbed her legs. And dropped backward—slamming her into the bed.
The choke broke. Air rushed from her lungs.
She tried to scramble away.
He caught her by the ankle, dragged her back, flipped her over.
Now he was on top, pinning her wrists with one hand, his knees anchoring her hips to the bed.
"Tch." Naraku clicked her tongue.
"What the hell are you looking at?" she snapped.
Naoya didn't flinch. His voice came out quiet, drained. "Hey, Naraku… can you comfort me? I'm really depressed right now."
Her brow twitched. A mocking scoff escaped her. "Comfort you? You're pathetic."
"And you're weak," he replied flatly, eyes still locked on her. "That's why you'll always be beneath me."
Silence followed—heavy, suffocating.
Then, Naoya sighed. Something flickered in his eyes—something distant, almost reflective.
"I think that will be my last win against him."
"…So what?" she repeated. "You still won."
"This time," he murmured. "But he's the kind who breaks past every limit the moment you think he's reached it."
A bitter chuckle escaped his throat. No arrogance, just truth. "I burned through everything just to meet him there. Used every trick, every ounce."
Naraku didn't respond. For once, her tongue failed her.
Naoya's fingers twitched against the sheet. "So yeah… maybe I am pathetic."
The silence that settled now wasn't their usual tension. It was heavier—quiet, raw, unspoken.
Naraku let out a sharp exhale. "You're still an asshole."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "And you're still weak."
The dim light of the room cast long shadows across the floor, the air thick with tension and the scent of sweat. Naoya loomed over Naraku, his body pressing her into the mattress, his grip unyielding.
Naraku thrashed beneath him. "You got your comfort now Get off me, you bastard!"
His fingers tightened around her wrists, pinning her down again. "I need this now."
Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. "I'm taking this. And you're going to let me."
Her knee jerked up instinctively, but he caught it with his thigh, pinning her with the ease. Naraku's breath hitched - not fear, never fear with him, but something hotter, angrier. "Fuck you."
Naraku's body went rigid—but she didn't fight as hard as before.
"That's the idea." His free hand tangled in her hair, forcing her to meet his gaze. The usual mockery in his eyes is still there. "You knew this would happen eventually."
Her lip curled in disgust. "You think this means you've broken me?"
"I think you keep coming back," he said, lowering his face toward hers, slow enough to make her breath catch. "And I think we both know why."
He paused, his mouth hovering just above hers.
"Remember," he murmured, brushing her lips with his, "this doesn't change anything."
Then he kissed her and crossed into a place no one else had touched, warm and trembling, where youth ended and womanhood began.
…
Morning light spilled through the half-closed blinds, streaking the tatami floor in fractured gold. The air was still, heavy with leftover silence. Somewhere in the house, a cicada buzzed — obnoxiously loud.
Naraku stood at the edge of the balcony, arms folded across her chest, wearing nothing but one of Naoya's oversized shirts. She hadn't meant to put it on. It was just… there. And she was too tired to care.
Behind her, footsteps approached — lazy, confident, smug. The floor creaked under Naoya's weight.
"Yesterday was refreshing," he mused, voice dripping with satisfaction. "I hope you're ready to do that every day."
She didn't turn. "I hope you're ready to get stabbed every day."
Naoya chuckled, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her flush against him. "I thought you'd have more of a reaction."
Naraku didn't flinch.
"If I screamed every time a parasite touched me, I'd have no voice left."
"Every day?" Her voice was flat, bored. "Bold of you to assume I'd even remember it happened."
"Don't worry. I can make you scream for the right reasons."
Pause"And the wrong ones."